four proposals
by Cath1
Summary: Three times Ruth said no and one time she said yes. RH. Spoilers for S9.


four proposals

Disclaimer: Incredibly, still not mine.

Summary: Three times Ruth said no and one time she said yes. RH. Spoilers for early S9.

Notes: influenced by nothing more than wine (already it feels like it's going to be a long week) and today's, slightly worrying and unforeseen, tendency towards romanticism. I'll get past it soon. In the meantime... apologies.

Oh, and by the way – how much did I love that Malcolm returned last night? And even more so that he outsmarted Lucas. There was possibly a moment of elation accompanied by a "get in" spoken out loud when Lucas found the house empty. If I was willing to admit to such things, that is.

XxX

_One. _

Danny, Zoe and Tom had heard some of the story about the 'big, swinging dick'. His real name was Richard, appropriately enough. Ruth was younger then, and even younger than him.

Theirs was a relationship of simplicity, of enjoying the finer things in life to excess. She recalls with a smile how they once got a taxi to the airport and decided on impulse to fly to Corfu. They drank champagne, stayed out all night, spent the day on the beach and returned to London the following day. Just because they could.

She was in love with him for maybe five of the most impulsive and carefree moments of her life.

The day he proposed, she wasn't expecting it. He'd had relationships before – numerous, short-lived, overlapping – and she was just enjoying living in the moment.

They were lying in bed on a Sunday morning. The sun was shining outside, pouring through the gap between the curtains, but they had no intention of moving any time soon. And then, out of nowhere, "Do you ever think about getting married?" he asked.

She remembers laughing, rolling onto her front, tangling her hands with his.

"You're different from the others," he said. "I don't think I'd so much mind spending my life with you."

She'd suddenly realised that maybe he was being serious. "Settling down? You always say you'd hate to be tied down."

"Maybe I would. But how do I know if I've never tried it? So, how about it, eh? The next great adventure?"

"We'd last about three minutes before you'd get bored and move onto the next adventure," she laughed. And then, laughter turned to something more intimate. She moved her hand slowly down his naked side, under the covers. "Besides, I can think of better adventures we can have right now."

And then, the conversation ended as it became something else.

Later, she thought about it, occasionally wondering what life would have been like if she hadn't bypassed the subject. But never once did she seriously regret not agreeing to his proposal.

XxX

_Two._

She'd been seeing George for about a year before he asked. Part of her had anticipated it and oddly always with some amount of apprehension. Still, it shocked her when the moment arrived.

"I've booked a table for seven thirty at our restaurant," he told her one Friday evening as he pulled her into his arms. "I've arranged a babysitter for Nico," he said into her hair.

"Sounds lovely," she replied with a smile. Their restaurant – it was always _theirs_, the name never mentioned – was situated on the coast, overlooking a harbour, covered in muted lighting from multicoloured strings of lights.

Later they were sat at their favourite table, she had the sea bass, he the halibut. He seemed unnecessarily nervous considering they'd done this a hundred times before, and appeared to have difficulty concentrating on the conversation.

And then, as she was the middle of a story – which admittedly was of the sort where 'you had to be there' in order to obtain the optimal level of laughter – he interrupted. "Ruth," he said. "I think..." here he paused. "I would like to ask you something. And I do not know how you will react."

She managed to quell the feelings of panic that attempted to overcome her. She nodded, unable to formulate an appropriate response.

"I was wondering if you would consent to marry me?" he asked quietly.

She gave a brief forced smile. It wasn't that the idea of marrying George was so very wrong or horrendous, but somehow, it still felt as though part of her heart wasn't with him. And somehow, that small part of her heart ruled her head far too much.

She took his hand and thought carefully about her words. "One day... one day I will marry you. But now, with things that have happened before," these things were always unsaid and she later wondered what he imagined her life to be like before she came to Cyprus, to him. "I can't now. I'm sorry. I love you, but I can't... not at the moment."

He nodded, his eyes slightly down until he felt her hand grip his more intently, and she forced him to look up. "I thought that would be the answer. But I had to try," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's not that I don't want to," she told him, but somehow, it was exactly because of that. And then, an idea; a good idea. "The rental contract on my house comes to an end next month. What if I didn't renew it?"

A moment of understanding, "You would move in?" he asked, hesitantly.

She smiled, and nodded. "I could move in," she repeated.

And then, a genuine smile.

Her answer would have made no difference; married or not, it would still have come to an abrupt and horrific halt. Only this way, she didn't feel entirely as though she was betraying anyone.

XxX

_Three._

She doesn't like to think about a third proposal, given after a funeral, in quiet, impassioned speech. She doesn't like to think about her answer. She made a choice – rightly or wrongly – and she has to stand by that. No matter how painful it sometimes seemed.

No, she doesn't like to think about it.

XxX

_Four._

Lucas will never know it, but somehow he becomes the catalyst for change. Friendships and relationships are somehow easier after his absence, and she doesn't know what he would think about that.

Somehow, as part of the aftermath, she becomes closer to Harry, more relaxed in his presence, though nothing physically changes.

Until one day. There's nothing significant that is a precursor, no advanced warning, just a meeting in Harry's office late at night and she stays behind, chatting, sharing her thoughts on the day's events after the others have left. She barely even notes their leaving the grid – apparently for a late night drink at the George – until Harry reaches down into a drawer and removes something which he places carefully, covered by his hand, on his desk.

"I found something a while ago, when sorting out my loft, that I wanted to give to you. Or at least have the opportunity to give to you. But I have been waiting for the right time and I'm no longer even sure when that would be." He removes his hand slowly, tentatively, uncovering a small box. "It was my mother's and before that my grandmother's." He moves the box in her direction, and for once she's not quite so apprehensive when she works out what it might be.

She opens it slowly to reveal a ring. It's small, pretty, not at all ostentatious, and although given the opportunity she has no idea what she might choose, it doesn't vary too wildly from her occasional musing on the idea of engagement rings.

"I don't want an answer now," Harry continues. "I'd like you to think about it. And if your answer is still the same as it was, I promise never to mention it again. In fact, you need never mention it again, just leave the box and I'll understand."

She nods a brief understanding, but says nothing. Somehow, there's nothing to be said. She closes the box, and hesitantly, almost self-consciously, stands up and takes it into her hand – not yet an admission of anything. And then, before leaving the room, "It is beautiful, though, Harry," she says. "I will think about it."

She places it in her desk drawer.

Weeks pass, and she makes no decision. From time to time, late at night, she opens the box and looks at it, but it provides no answers. Her relationship with Harry remains close and yet he mentions nothing, even as sometimes she'd like him to; she wants him to force the question so that she has to decide one way or another rather than this seemingly infinite unknown.

And then, one day, the decision is made even without thought.

She leaves the box on his desk, a note to accompany it.

Later, she observes him, surreptitiously, watches as he sees the box, a resigned look passing his features for a second before he manages to hide his emotions.

And then, he sees the note. A one word answer.

He opens the empty box and smiles.

XxX

Fin.

And again, apologies for the excessive romanticism. No idea what came over me... ;0)


End file.
